


It's a Start (JoJoNightshade)

by JoJoNightshade



Series: Innocent [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, White Collar - Freeform, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJoNightshade/pseuds/JoJoNightshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's still suspicious, and Neal isn't quite ready to forgive him just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Start (JoJoNightshade)

Okay, so maybe he isn’t the most trustworthy of people. Probably one of the least, actually. Just last week he realizes that when he hesitates before he says something, it’s to tell the truth, not a sign of lying. Peter eyes him warily, like he always does.

Neal pretends he doesn’t see it. It would be nice to have his trust--he’s a handler, not a friend. A partner and not a companion. He doesn’t know when he stops thinking like this (Maybe when Mozzie got over his fear of ‘The Suit’) but somehow he does.

Never in Neal’s life has he trusted a government official--mostly because they were corrupt, or maybe because they all wanted him in custody. Neal thinks that maybe Special Agent Peter Burke is a little too close for comfort.

Then it blows up in his face, just like it always does.

It starts small, with the two of them walking back from the deli. He’s asking Peter how he can stand to eat that deviled ham sandwich (Which is still beyond him) when the agent turns to him and eyes him critically. “You were outside your radius today,” he remarks.

Neal rolls his eyes. “A meter out, Peter. To a coffee shop. The one by the office isn’t nearly as good as June’s.” 

Peter’s lips thin. “Then why do I have a phone call from that exact shop, asking about a missing portrait of a man with his wife? It’s worth 77.6 million; that’s easy cash for you.” 

Neal doesn’t take easy cash. He works for what he’s got.

He tries not to bristle at the underlying intent of the words. Of course Peter would think he stole it. “77.6 million, huh? Catching up to Portrait of Doctor Gadget, at over 8.2 million. I’d love to meet the store owner who hangs priceless paintings on their coffee shop wall.” He whistles.

“Stop playing games with me, Caffrey.” Last name. It stings. “It was hanging there. It would have been so easy for you to take it. Dammit, Neal, temptation isn’t a reason for you to snatch a priceless painting off a wall!”

Now he’s angry, because art + theft doesn’t necessarily equal a guilty Neal Caffrey. “I didn’t do it, Peter. It’s not like me to look at a painting and just decide to walk away with it.” He hopes Peter will see the truth in his words.

He doesn’t. “Neal,” he says, too gently, almost guiltily. “I wanted to see if you would deny it. Of course you would. But your fingerprints have been found on the painting. It was recovered in one of Mozzie’s hideout. There’s evidence, Neal. I can’t believe you.”

Then before Neal Caffrey can blink, can say a word because it’s not true, shining silver handcuffs lock over his wrists and it’s back to prison for him.

Orange looks as bad on him as innocence.  
_______

The trial goes by so fast. Considering his past records and the bounty of evidence (If he were the one pulling off this theft, he wouldn’t have left fingerprints or hairs or anything else), it’s too easy to lock him up. They get him another four years--better than a lifetime, too much for him. 

“I didn’t take it,” he tells Diana as she leads him to his cell. It’s a privilege, really, to be lead by FBI themselves. “I swear I didn’t.”

She laughs, forced. “I know, Caffrey. You would’ve done better.” She looks like she wants to say more, but thinks better of it. “Good luck, Neal.” It’s the first and probably the last time she called him by his first name. Then Diana is gone, one of the only people who believe in the truth.

Tally marks appear on the wall again, marking the days that turn to weeks that turn to months. He begins to understand why people consider death better than inprisonment, now that he isn’t guilty of anything.

No Kate comes to visit him (Kate’s dead, long dead) and it’s almost like Solitary Confinement. Almost a year--he spends Thanksgiving with nothing to thank for and Christmas writing cards to people who no longer care. New Years goes by without a resolution because he’s actually done something right, and this is what he gets?

Then April’s Fools passes and he misses the pranks he pulls on Peter, misses the shock and surprise (but not suspicion) when his suits are replaced with 1930 ballroom dancing costumes. Thanksgiving comes and goes (he doesn’t even think about it) and it’s Christmas again. 

He sends a card to the Burkes after much consideration. Satchmo, it reads, do you remember me? And there’s so much more he wants to say but the card is only so big so he doodles a little dog onto it and signs it Neal Caffrey.

A week later he gets a card in return. Happy Holidays, Neal. We miss you. He doesn’t know if it should be insulting that only Elizabeth signs it. A paw print is dabbled onto the side, lolling as if Satchmo was trembling.

Diana visits him again, still her with that healthy glow (He would do anything to see the sun) and that same no nonsense attitude. It’s refreshing to see someone who isn’t crazy in prison these days, and he welcomes her presence.

She’s smiling, which he takes as a good sign. “We’ve found evidence that your conviction was tampered with,” she gives him as close to a grin as she will probably ever give you. Jones wanted to tell you, but…”

“He lost rock, paper, scissors, didn’t he?” Neal quips. She shrugs. “Nice to know you guys will fight over me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Caffrey,” She says drily. “But you may be out of here before four years is up.”

Justice fits him like a Devore.  
__________________

Freedom tastes so sweet. 

Sweeter than any con, sweeter than anything. It’s not the fact that he’s no longer trapped--it’s everything; the smell of fresh air, the blinding of the sun as it hits his eyes. The soft of his clothes and the way people treat him--it’s freedom and it’s too sweet.

Peter doesn’t say anything when he comes to visit the Burkes. Elizabeth throws her arms around him and Satchmo barks excitedly, yapping at their heels like he never has before. But Peter just stands there and stares.

“This time you were wrong,” Neal tries for a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes; he knows it doesn’t. “Get over it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter looks anywhere but him, fixes his gaze on the mantle. Nervous fingers pick at his cuff links and the buttons on his suit and practically anything that’s loose and can fall off. “I really am.”

Neal knows he means it--not just I’m sorry for sending you to prison, but an apology for doubting him and an apology for ignoring his lone Christmas card. A tight lipped smile flits across his face--Neal’s not quite ready to forgive yet. He can try.

“I know you are,” Neal says, and turns the TV on. Immediately, it flickers to a news channel on his release and then to a sports game. “Stop picking at your buttons, Peter. You’ll ruin your new suit.”

Peter gapes at him, Elizabeth bursts into laughter, and Neal thinks that this may be a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is also posted on LJ.


End file.
